


Yours, SGR

by hansbekhart



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Bucky Barnes, Epistolary, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Public Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Spanking, Sub Steve Rogers, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4249818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hansbekhart/pseuds/hansbekhart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky's sweetheart writes him the nicest letters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours, SGR

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WillowPerpetua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowPerpetua/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Love Letters](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3817945) by [stoatsandwich](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stoatsandwich/pseuds/stoatsandwich). 



Nov 17 1942  
Brooklyn New York

 

James Buchanan Barnes,

You've got some kind of G-D nerve sending a dirty letter like that without warning a body! I was on my way to your ma's house when the mail came, you're lucky I am so impatient that I ripped it open to read right there in the street, otherwise you would have had one hell of a letter coming from your mother!!

I bet you think that is very funny. So do I. After I slithered up from where I dropped dead on the sidewalk I about died all over again from laughing, imagining what would have happened if I'd waited to open it up over a nice dinner with your sisters sitting on either side of me.

Your family is _very sad_ to hear I had not received _any letters_ from you lately, but luckily for me you've written them buckets and I was able to "catch up." It is nice to hear from them what the soldier life is like for you, because the only news I get from you is that you have a nasty mind and spend your time growing hair on your palms and I knew these things already.

Since your last letter to your family asked for all the details of home here we go:

It is still quite warm here, although the trees have already lost most their leaves and I suppose winter is officially not too far off. Mostly what people talk about is the war and whether we'll be taking the fight to Hitler and how soon. There's talk there will be more rationing soon and your father is already hoarding coffee in preparation.

I had a long letter from Arnie the other week (or rather it was addressed to both of us). There was a terrific battle over where he is, but thankfully he came out of it okay. Big chunks of his letter was cut out so I guess we will have to wait to know about the rest of it. He asked after news of you and I let him know you were on your way to Africa. God knows when it will reach him, though - maybe both of you will be back in Brooklyn by then. Johnny and Ernesto are also somewhere in the Pacific but no word from them just yet.

Sometimes I can't believe you have been gone for so long now. Sometimes it feels like only yesterday I saw you getting on that boat and sailing away, but I dream about it often enough that maybe that's true. It is nice to have the apartment all to myself, as there is no one to yell at me if I leave a dish in the sink or forget to make our bed, but it would be a lot nicer to have you around again.

I am quite healthy and am doing well. My apprenticeship to old Tom has turned into as steady a job as you can ask for now that all our nice WPA work has officially dried up. I will have to see if I can send you some clippings. I've enclosed two drawings for you that I was not paid to make. One is a lovely pastoral scene of Brooklyn from when I was waiting down near Sands Street for Charlie to finish work. I watched a drunk man fall over very slowly for nearly ten straight minutes. I had to look around and make sure it wasn't some kind of Buster Keaton gag. The other, well I assume you are not censored so badly if _that letter_ made it through so I thought maybe you would enjoy something to look at besides the African jungle.

Now if I know you, Bucky Barnes, you have been panting to see if I have the nerve to write a letter like the one you write me. Well maybe it would not be _ladylike_ for me to do so but here goes nothing.

Do you remember back when you and I first started going together, and we couldn't keep our hands off each other? I don't know if that part ever really stopped but in the beginning it was real bad. I was on the train the other day coming back from the city and I was thinking about that time you and me were on a train and it was real packed. You had a hand up on the overhead bar but I had to brace myself against you, that was how crowded it was. And because I knew no one could see what I was doing I started playing with you real delicate-like through your pants. I thought you'd give us away for sure with how red you got. You couldn't even look down at me so you had to pretend you were watching Liberty Island go by. And I just kept touching and touching, until you looked like you were about ready to go off in your pants.

You remember what you said to me?

Anyway we were getting out and you grabbed my arm real tight coming off the platform, and hustled me to down towards this service corridor. It wasn't too private and the only thing really hiding us was this awful huge garbage bin someone had stuck back there, but it was enough for you and me too, because you got my drawers off as quick as you could and lifted me up against the wall to have your way. Lucky we'd been at it so hard that morning because you slid right in and let me wiggle around to get you right where I wanted you. I don't know who wanted it more at that moment, whether it was me or you.

Maybe it was lucky we both wanted it so bad because not a minute or two after we were done (remember I was fixing your tie?) a policeman strolled right on by without a care in the world. Boy would he have had a care if he'd come by sooner and seen you and me up against that wall! As it was he just whistled past, and me with your jizz leaking out of me, and you with your dick just barely back in your pants. I was so pleased about it I almost pulled it right back out to give it a nice suck, but I think we ended up running back home and bouncing me on your dick all over again so it worked out well enough.

I found an old shirt of yours in the drawer the other day that somehow still smells a little bit like you. Maybe it was one of the awful ones you brought back with you from training without washing first. Either way you could have knocked me right over because when I laid my hands on it, I missed you so bad I had to sit down and just remember what it felt like to have you near me. I am trying not to wear it or touch it too much for fear that it will only smell like me before too long. So yes to answer your question I miss you very much. I am very, very proud of you, but I miss you. As soon as I finish a letter to you I think of something else to say and I start writing another one. Luckily Tom knows you so he doesn't mind when I add my stacks to the outgoing mail so I will keep them coming, just as I hope you will be able to write to me as often as you can.

 

Yours sincerely,

SGR

 

P.S enough with the pet names, my teeth are about to fall out.

 

-

 

Dec 21 1942  
Brooklyn New York

 

Dear Bucky,

 

Do you think I really care about how many other people are reading this? Let them get a little thrill. I'm not ashamed in Brooklyn and I won't be shamed by Uncle Sam neither. We went through too much to figure things out between the two of us for me to worry about a couple guys reading our private correspondence.

Besides, I like it.

I was thinking about that earlier, about whoever it is that'd reading all the letters going to and from home, hearing about so-and-so's grandmother dying or a cow winning the state fair or whatever people do in other places. Is he young? Maybe he's never been off the family farm before. Maybe he’s a virgin. And here come your letters, full of things he never even dreamed of, like you spanking me so hard I bruise all over and me loving it so bad I could cry. Do you think it ever drives him so wild he's gotta find somewhere private to think about the way you and me like to fuck?

I like that. I hope he does.

Besides, wait until he reads this one. You're gonna be the most popular guy around.

I got your last letter yesterday and so far I have followed your instructions to the letter. I’m sure it is very cold there so I am going to tell you everything I have done so far to keep you nice and warm.

Right now I'm sitting at the corner booth at Horn & Hardart wearing the panties that I picked out for you. Luckily I had no plans that I couldn’t cancel, so I was able to go down to Abraham & Straus first thing this morning. You know I don't go to A&S too often as it's a little rich for my blood but this morning I marched myself right down to Fulton St and through those great big marble columns like I owned the place. I even took the elevator even though lingerie is only on 2nd, just to stand next to the elevator operator and try not to laugh. The expense, the luxury! And here is little old me, on a mission from my soldier boy friend

The sales girl gave me quite the look when the elevator doors opened (I told you A&S is a little rich for me), but she didn’t say anything so I took my time browsing around, frowning very seriously on this or that. I was making a _very serious purchase_ , after all.

You said _soft_ so eventually what I did was wait until no one was looking and then I closed my eyes and ran my hands over all of them until I found some that felt just like silk. I picked the one I thought would look the best while you take them off me with your teeth. I don't know what kind of fabric they are but they're real soft and almost see through, and they've got a little bit of lace on the bottom of them. They're not pink exactly but I think you will like the color, for the reasons specified in your letter.

After I had purchased the panties, with a suitable story (maybe I should have just told the girl that I was buying them for my soldier? She seemed like a nice, understanding type and maybe would have commended me for my patriotism) I took myself up to Ladies on 3rd, looked around a bit to see if there might be anything else you’d like to see me in. I have a few ideas for when you are home.

So I guess I should admit here that I did not follow your instructions to the letter. I got a few blocks down Fulton and realized I was too eager to wait, so I ducked inside Horn & Hardart and I changed in the bathroom. Now I am sitting here drinking their fine coffee, and thinking about what you'll do when you find out that I didn't go straight home like you said. The waitress hasn't paid me much mind and I've been real polite, so no one has thought much about little me, sitting in the corner and getting wet in my brand new panties.

But I _am_ being good, Bucky. Maybe if I'd run home I wouldn't have had the patience to follow the rest of your letter, and I would've made myself come already without taking it slow like you asked. I think a lot about what we're gonna do when you finally come home. How many days do you think we can stay in bed? How many times do you think you can make me come, the first day? And then I get all hot and sometimes I go into the washroom at work to put my hands into my pants and feel how dripping wet I got just thinking about you, and I come so hard sometimes I think poor old Tom hears me.

That's how I felt reading your letter yesterday, but I was _good_. I haven't come since I read it even though I've been dying for it and dying for you. But I wouldn't mind if you thought I should be punished anyway for coming to Horn  & Hardart instead of running home. I think I deserve it, don't you?

I have one hand under the table right now, touching myself. No one's close enough to see and it feels _so good_ , Bucky. It's hard not to slip my hand into my clothes all together, touch the soft, silky panties and myself through them.

But I'm being good for you. I'll go home and I'll do what you told me to do.

Okay now I am home. Mrs O on the third floor wanted to say hello and chat for a while but I told her I was very sick and needed to get up to bed. She told me I looked quite red so it worked very well. So now I am home alone and I was so eager to strip down that I left all my clothes right on the floor next to the dining room table. (Sorry Bucky). I am writing to you from our bed, which is why it looks a little uneven, and I will write as much as I can while I touch myself for you until I can't stand it anymore.

I put both my hands on my thighs and stroked up and down my skin, held my legs open so that if you were here you could put your face in between them and lick me through these pretty panties that I bought just for you. I rubbed my hand over the front of my panties and felt how slick it is inside from how wet I've been for hours. I rolled onto my belly and stuck my ass in the air the way you like it, and thought about you stroking two fingers over me in my little panties, from the front all the way to the back.

Was I good enough? Did I wear them long enough? Oh Bucky I hope so I'm so desperate I can hardly see straight, I hope you won't be mad. If you think it's enough then I'll tell you what I'm going to do to myself. I'm going to slide these panties to one side and put three fingers up into me and imagine your dick grinding into me, so good and deep that I go crazy from it and start making so much noise you always have to stop fucking me and put a hand over my mouth so the neighbors don't hear me. I know you like it when I bite a little bit so right now I am biting my fingers and it feels so good, I miss you so bad sometimes I think I'll die from it.

Bucky I couldn't take it anymore. I had to stop writing and make myself come for you. And you're right that now I've come and I'm cooling down a little I am embarrassed about what I was writing, and also that I sat and diddled myself at the automat, but I'm going to leave this letter how I wrote it. You made me feel so good all the way from Africa, the best I've felt since you left and I couldn't follow, and I'd be a real jerk if I didn't try to do the same for you.

I got your old shirt from under the bed just like you asked, and right now I am propped up on my elbows just far enough to write, and all I can smell is you, and maybe now a little bit of me and the smell of sex, which is okay with me because now it smells not just like you but of home.

Your family has invited me to Christmas dinner this year. The food is always a little strange when it's a Christian meal but I am very grateful for the effort and that they thought of me this year. Almost all of our friends have gone to war and I don't know what I would be doing otherwise. In Brooklyn it is very cold as well, and when I lie awake at night I think of you doing the same, and sometimes it helps.

Stay safe. I know that you aren't very good at keeping your nose out of trouble even when I'm not there to lead you into it, but I hope you will stay safe. I love you.

 

Yours always,

SGR

 

-

 

Jan 05 1943  
Brooklyn New York

 

Dear Buck,

 

It has snowed for the last few days but it was clear today, so I took myself to the city and went to Central Park. I thought maybe you would be missing home so I could write down what it was like for you. Remember we had so many good times there?

Remember that summer it felt like we lived in the park? It must have been '38 or '39, before everything with the war started. There were concerts on the Mall and we must have gone to almost all of even if we never even made it over to the Bandshell because we'd made so many friends along the way. I felt like that summer would never end and when I think about it now we seem very young.

I walked along that old Alley and of course all of the benches were empty and there was no band playing, because it's winter and everything is piled high with snow. I went and visited the fountain and said hello to the angel up on top, and I sat by the lake for a little while but did not see any turtles swimming around. Where do you think they go, when it's cold out? If I were you, I think I would tell me: "There is a big turtle city that lives under the Bow Bridge, and in the city there is a little Turtle Park and a little turtle subway and little turtle restaurants where they drink coffee and argue about our country's obligation to intervene, or the plight of the Negro, or the meaning of Art or whatever it is you used to talk about with your friends."

Then I would push you in the lake.

I walked around for several hours, almost all by myself the whole time. It's nice in a way because it is so hard to ever really be alone in New York, but at the same time I feel as though I am alone all the time now so it actually was not very comforting. And of course as I was sitting and watching the sledders guess who comes up and taps me on the shoulder? Your old friend Professor B.

Prof B is under the impression we are friends, and maybe in the past I have been friendly to him, but at that moment there were few people on earth I would have wanted to see less. He asked after you, of course, and spoke very knowledgeably about the situation in N Africa. He was _very_ sympathetic to me and I had to get away quickly before I could not keep myself from popping him a smart one right in the mouth! As if he knows what it has been like! As if he is _friends_ with you and me!

Of course then I was angry and the walk was spoiled so I came home and now I am in our home, where I am the only one who has lived here for months and months. It might as well be only my apartment at this point. I was too greedy and I slept wearing your old shirt and now it only smells like me and my sad attempts to pretend like you are still here.

Did you know sometimes I scratch and pinch myself to pretend it's your beard rubbing me pink? Or that it's your teeth leaving marks I always got so mad at you about?

I think you should waste a few days teaching me a lesson about giving it out when you get back. Maybe I get so desperate reading your letters and thinking about what you might get up to overseas that I think about finding a man or two who will keep me satisfied when you're away.

Maybe I should have taken Prof B up on his offer to buy me lunch (as if I can't buy my own). We could have sat and reminisced about all the fun you two used to have together.

Maybe I should go back to the city and take myself over to 8th Avenue, to the bars you used to go to. I bet there are some gentlemen there who would know what to do with a little thing like me. Maybe I could make some nice friends who would take me to a hotel room and do all the things you can't do from Africa. I bet if I told them that I like it very rough - that I like to be marked up and bruised and split open by the end of it, they could make that happen for me.

What would you do about it if you came home and I told you that I had been giving it out while you were out fighting for our country like a real man? How bad would you punish me? Would you hold me down? Would you bruise me up for real? Would you make me cry for real?

Here's what I would do: I would tell you every little detail. I would tell you about getting down on my knees and sucking one big dick and then the other. I'd ask one of them to grab me by my hair and yank my head back so that he could stick his dick all the way down my throat. I'd beg him to fuck my mouth the way you used to fuck my mouth, rough and bruising and not letting up because you knew even if I choked a little that I wouldn't want you to. I'd tell you about the other one throwing me onto the bed (because he'd be big and strong like you, he'd be handsome like you) and climbing on top of me and shoving my legs apart with his knees. He'd rub his wet dick all over those pretty little tits you like to bite on so much and I couldn't even struggle because they'd be holding my arms down too.

Then the other one would kneel over my face and shove his dick back into my mouth. At that angle he'd have his nuts in my face and that'd be all I could smell or see, and I'd have to go a little limp to keep from choking more. I'd barely notice the one on top of me, pushing his thick, rough fingers into my pussy, opening me up so he could get his dick in and fuck me like I've been aching to get fucked since the day you climbed onto that boat and sailed off to war. They'd fill me up on both sides. If they thought I was going to come from it they'd give me a little slap, on the face or maybe on my pussy.

When the one fucking my pussy came he'd just make room for the other one to slide down the bed and fuck me too, not even a pause for me to catch my breath. Or do you think they could both fit? You talk all that crap in your letters about me being easy and giving it out but I bet you wouldn't like it if it was true, would you? If I came home to you, fucked and bruised, my breath smelling like some other man's dick, what would you do? I bet you wouldn't stop at whipping my ass. I bet you'd have to push me face down onto the bed and put your fingers into my sore pussy and clean out what those other men left in there. I bet you wouldn't even stop to get my clothes all the way off, just tear them away so you could get your dick in me. You'd fuck me so hard I bet I couldn't even get enough air to scream from how good it felt. How much I like to take it over and over and over.

I hope when you read this letter you get so angry you can't see and you say to yourself that's what I'll do, that's everything I'm gonna do when I get home, I'm going to break our bed teaching this bitch a lesson. And your dick gets so hard thinking about it that you turn red all over and you have to take it out and pull on it as rough and hard as you'd be fucking me. Make sure you spit in your hand when you do it so it really feels like you're fucking my swollen, wet pussy. Are you doing it? I bet you are, even when I'm used up and full of come you can't get enough of me, and you're gonna come knowing that you'd do anything to fuck me even if you gotta wait on line to do it.

I love you. I love you so much. Did you come? Did you like it?

I love you and I'd never do that to you, I've been so good. I did get real mad when I saw Prof B earlier but only because it made me miss you even worse than usual so I thought I would write you a letter like the ones you write me. It's turned into an awful night and it's so cold in our apartment that I've wrapped myself up in one of your old coats and all our blankets to go to bed, and I'm pretend it's you holding me. This is the first time in all our lives that you've gone somewhere that I couldn't follow, and _I hate it_. I don't think I'm gonna let it happen ever again.

Anyways, I also made myself come writing that so now we have shared it, and we're lying in bed together with the blankets pulled up to our noses. It's nice and hot right now under our blankets (even though your feet are _ALWAYS COLD_ ) and we are laying close and you've put your arms around me and we get to share the same air for a little while. I'm saying your name over and over because I'm so happy to see you.

Bucky Barnes, I love you. Come home safe.

 

Yours forever,

SGR


End file.
